


A Glimpse

by asuninside



Category: Glee
Genre: Barebacking, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuninside/pseuds/asuninside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine are back together, not engaged, not married, just together, living in their own slice of happiness in glorious NYC. This is a glimpse into their first summer in their own apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Glimpse

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the summer after Blaine graduates college.

_Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and, seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand._

 

In the daytime, in July, in the city, the heat is unbearable. Summer is the slyer, more vicious of two evils when compared to winter. Winter means peacoats and cashmere and L’Ancienne cocoa from Dean & Deluca and twenty variations on cinnamon French toast. Winter is an icy hand guiding you towards something bright and comforting, moving just quickly enough so that by the time you get to the good part, you can scarcely remember the cold. Winter is just fine.

Summer, on the other hand, is a dense and humid monster resting on your chest. It means long days and long nights with no rest and no layering and the handful of strangers in the street who think it’s okay to besmirch the sanctity of footwear with Crocs. Kurt hates summer.

*

“I hate summer,” Kurt says, voice muffled. His face is currently in the freezer.

Blaine doesn’t look up from the crossword. “No you don’t,” he replies amiably. “Unit of farmland, four letters.”

Kurt removes his head from the freezer and closes it primly. He turns around to face Blaine who is sitting at the kitchen table, the pink-red-gold hue of sunset playing on his cheekbones and making shadows of his skin. As Blaine has gotten progressively tanner, he’s also begun making the switch to summer hair styling; size-of-a-dime rather than three-gallons-and-a-jam-jar of gel. It suits him. He’s also taken to shedding his topmost layer upon getting home in the evening and wearing just an undershirt with his pants. Kurt might make an appreciative comment about Blaine’s exposed shoulders and what the light is doing for their definition if he wasn’t so grumpy about the lack of air conditioning. He is, though, so he arches an eyebrow with an air of _how the hell should I know_ and says nothing.

Blaine just looks at him. Kurt lasts a good fifteen seconds longer, but then something about the oppressive heat of the apartment and the patient expression on Blaine’s face makes him fold. He stalks over, snatches the pen from Blaine’s fingers, and writes ‘acre’ across the boxes in tiny, perfect, all-caps letters. He doesn’t see Blaine’s grin so much as feel it radiating from beside him. “Thank you.”

Anyone else would think he was being smug or sarcastic in his thanks. Kurt, however, knows Blaine and knows that it’s genuine, and that, somehow, is what makes the negative energy that had been building up around him like a shell all day break to pieces and fall away. He sinks into a chair and tucks his face into the crook of Blaine’s neck. Blaine makes a contented sound and reaches between them to lace their fingers together. “I may or may not have stopped at Van Leeuwen on the way home and I may or may not have bought a gallon of earl grey ice cream and we may or may not be having that for dinner so you don’t have to cook.” Kurt distances himself from the hollow of Blaine’s clavicle and looks up at him. He is met with Blaine’s most brilliant, self-satisfied smile. He might have to reconsider hating summer.

*

 

 

_There are two, content, happy in being together, speaking little, perhaps not a word._

 

They’re pressed up together on the violet suede couch Kurt bought (“ _Rescued_ , Blaine! Nobody would have loved it like I do!”) from the flea market two months previous, exchanging sticky-sweet kisses. Kurt’s mood has made a 180 since Blaine had produced a bottle of cake flavored vodka from somewhere, holding it in the air and waltzing around the apartment, pontificating; “As adults we are entitled to cake and ice cream for dinner, it’s in the contract!” and “Life without whimsy is no life at all!” until Kurt was helpless with laughter. An hour later and he’s still giddy and tipsy, skin tingling as if his blood cells are all still rocking with mirth beneath it. He can’t stop writhing, wriggling with joy like a child. He can’t remember the last time he let his inhibitions go quite like this and it feels _good_.

Blaine, on the other hand, has mostly sobered up and is less silly and almost mellow; loose and a little contemplative in his touches. Whenever things get heated between them (as they so often do now that they are living in their own little idyll away from roommates and parents and the rest of the whole messy world), Blaine is eager and in constant motion. This is different. He’s wrapped around Kurt like a blanket, with two hands cupping the back of Kurt’s neck, feeding him his mouth, letting the kisses gradually shift from quick and fervent to drawn out and burning. All traces of their dessert-dinner have faded and all Kurt can taste now is the intensity of the flavor that is Blaine.

Blaine breaks their mouths apart suddenly with a wet sound and Kurt startles a little. Blaine has moved back enough that Kurt can see directly into Blaine’s eyes and _oh._ They’re dark and shining with a lust so fierce that it nearly takes the breath out of him. Without a word, Blaine stands abruptly, grabbing Kurt’s hand and pulling him.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, “what-“

“Shhh,” Blaine whispers, cutting him off. Kurt is bewildered, but arousal is moving through him like flame licking up paper as it turns to ash. He grips Blaine’s hand tighter as Blaine continues to lead him, out of the apartment, down the hall, up one flight of stairs, then two-

And then he’s being tackled to the warm stone of the roof of their building and Blaine is kissing him hard and frantic, slipping his tongue past Kurt’s lips, pressing fingers into the dip of his lower back. Kurt feels himself ache and melt in Blaine’s arms, tries to pull him close, closer. He can feel Blaine hard against him and without a second thought to the fact that they are out in the open where anyone could walk up and find them; he reaches for the buckle of Blaine’s belt and begins to fumble with it.

The temperature has dropped with the sun and the sky is well on its way to black and edged with dying amber light. There’s no one but the stars to see them and Kurt just _wants_. He tugs down Blaine’s jeans and gets a hand around his cock and Blaine gasps into his mouth. “Wait, wait,” Blaine pants, “In- inside me. _Please_ , Kurt.”

Kurt responds by fisting his other hand in Blaine’s shirt to tug him down into a kiss that’s hard and hot and so _much_ that he doesn’t know how he’s going to last. He sits up and rolls them over forcefully. Blaine gets his jeans the rest of the way off and kicks them aside before helping Kurt with his shorts. They’re expensive and have a thousand buckles and even though Kurt very much does not care about either of those things right now, he just wants them _off_ , Blaine, ever-considerate, slows his movements and carefully unclips and unclasps before gently pulling them off and setting them aside. Kurt wants to _cry_ he’s so in love. But then Blaine is right back next to him and he’s sucking on Kurt’s tongue with intent and oh right. Sex. Sort-of-in-public, starlit, rooftop sex. He can’t help but giggle into Blaine’s mouth with the absurd perfection of it all. His laughter dissolves into a moan almost at once as Blaine cants his hips up and throws back his head, exposing his neck in a way that makes Kurt want to change their plans and just taste it for hours on end.

He doesn’t of course, because Blaine is tugging him down and down and pressing his mouth right up against Kurt’s ear whispering, “ _Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_.” Kurt has only heard Blaine swear a handful of times in all the years they’ve been together and absolutely never like this, wanton and needy, and something twists and curls deep in Kurt’s stomach and he is suddenly so, so close. He breathes out shakily and reaches down to position Blaine’s legs around him, hands fluttering in panic for a moment when he realizes they don’t have anything with them, but then Blaine is out from under him and back again in a matter of seconds, travel sized bottle of lube clutched triumphantly between two fingers. Kurt smirks at him and grabs it, twisting the cap and tossing it aside. He slicks his fingers and presses a kiss to Blaine’s temple before reaching down and pressing a finger inside. Blaine’s hips jerk up and he makes a noise that sounds like ‘please.’ Kurt adds a second finger and feels the muscles tighten and relax around him. Blaine is shaking beneath him now, breath coming fast, mouthing wordlessly as he stares at Kurt with earnest, lust-filled eyes. Kurt slides his fingers out as tenderly as he can and takes himself in hand, lining himself up with Blaine. He breathes in unsteadily and lets it out as he pushes in deep on the first thrust. They both cry out.

Everything passes in a blur of too-real not-real. Skyscrapers are lit up like Christmas trees all around them, huge and dazzling, and above them is a forever of open sky. Their breathing becomes shallower in tandem as Kurt moves in and out, in and out, and Blaine fists his hands in Kurt’s hair and kisses him and twists beneath him and lets out broken gasps into Kurt’s mouth and it’s absolutely _everything_ and then it’s over. They come at the same moment and Kurt revels in it, he can’t recall a time that that’s ever happened, even in those first dizzy months of we-can-do-this-now combined with teenage libidos and the hope of New York shining ahead of them like a beacon. He collapses on top of Blaine who is just as loose, just as pliant, and who smiles into Kurt’s kisses with such apparent bliss and love that Kurt can’t help but whisper, still half-breathless, “I think I love summer.”

Blaine looks at him with those wide hazel eyes of his, just looks at him and looks at him and _looks_ at him, and then bursts into laughter. Kurt knew that was coming and he waits it out, patiently. When Blaine’s giggles have mostly subsided he manages to say, “I love you too,” before rolling to the side to retrieve their clothes so that they can go home. _Their_ home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes in numbered bullets because that's the only way I can organize my thoughts:
> 
> 1\. The title as well as the two italicized bits love quotes are from the poem 'A Glimpse' by Walt Whitman. I did not create them, nor would I ever claim to. That poem inspired this work, and I'd encourage everyone to read it!
> 
> 2\. This fic was beta-ed by the lovely imfeelinghellagood.
> 
> 3\. I absolutely appreciate feedback, so I would adore if you let me know what you think of this in the comment section!


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